Her daffodil queen, p.16
Her Daffodil Queen, page 16
“Are you here? Why? What?” Ceryse’s father said. He tripped over his words, rushing to understand. Both Ceryse’s mother and father wanted to tell her everything that had happened over the last two seasons.
“Have you been keeping well? Has whoever or wherever The Order place you been treating you well? Why are you home?” Her mother asked, pulled her into her chest. Ceryse’s father wrapped his enormous arms around both of them.
After a moment, Ceryse wiggled free of their tight embraces. She cleared her throat. Trying hard not to talk about The Order or Taran’s involvement with her attempted killing.
“Yes, I am home,” Ceryse said, smiling on the doorstep and turning around to let her parents see she was unharmed.
“Come inside. Your brothers are still here. We have much to discuss,” her father said. Ceryse followed her parents inside.
“Boys, get up!” her mother called up to the loft. Oscar’s sleep was ruined. He leant over the edge.
Ready to argue that it had been the only day in the previous week that he had slept later in the morning. But he held his tongue, noticing the third person standing by the dining table. Her brothers both swung around when their parents returned to the table. Oscar lowered his blanket from around his shoulders, watching his parents go between tears and being overjoyed.
“Mother,” Oscar said. Ceryse looked up to the loft and watched as Oscar’s eye widened out a sleepy haze and into a similar look of shock.
“How about you get your asses down here like your mother asked?!” Their Father yelled. Ceryse straightened up as though that tone was directed at her.
Oscar climbed down the ladder, saddling up to the dining table. He slid his hand forward, the rough skin of his fingertips stroking the paling skin of Ceryse’s wrist.
“Hello, my name is Oscar.” Oscar introduced himself to her. Ceryse’s brows knitted together. She was unaware of the change. She noticed a change in the seasons in Morghan’s realm: the absence of the sun from planting crops.
“I know your name. I’m your sister, you fool,” Ceryse said, mocking her younger brother. Giggling as the colour drained from Oscar’s face, she said,
“I thought you were crowned flower Queen. Like all those girls had been for the years before you. And they’ve taken you to live somewhere else,” Oscar explained, not sure where to go from there. Their mother and Ceryse look at each other before turning their attention to the loft.
“He is not up there, Mother. Taran left early this morning,” Oscar said.
“What do you mean, your brother is not here? Your sister is home.” Their mother said, anger entered her tone. Rage filled Ceryse. Taran had continued to fail in his duty to their family. She shook her head and balled her hands into a fist. Her anger towards her oldest brother could wait. She was home with her family that loved her. To ensure she was present with them, she reminded herself. She could confront Taran later and not shatter her parent’s hearts by reliving what had happened.
“He had to work in a town with the consul,” Oscar said. He placed a kiss on his mother’s forehead. Patting his father on his broad shoulder.
“I can inform my oldest brother of the events that have occurred over the seasons when I see him. Now, let us enjoy our time together,” Ceryse said, smiling. She was looking forward to the shock that would be on Taran’s face when he saw her again.
Chapter thirty-four
Ceryse
Ceryse’s father grabbed his cap and basket filled with lunch from the table. Looking around at his family home. He places a kiss on his beloved wife’s head. With a tear escaping the corner of his eye, he walks over to Ceryse and pulls her close to him.
Ceryse asked her father to delay discussing Oscar, uncertain about her feelings regarding her oldest brother’s absence upon her return to the cottage. Her father nodded, putting down the basket just during the Oscar to take a seat at the dining table.
“Should I put the kettle on, darling, and you can start at the beginning? Oh, how we’ve missed you,” her mother said, tears of joy running down her face. Ceryse took her mother’s hands, which were shaking. She guided her towards the chair close to her father before turning and stoking the fire and the half.
“Do you live in a big house now with lots of people around it? It must be lovely,” Oscar said as well, a smile pasted across his face, his cheeks a bright red hue from sunny days in the fields.
“We can stay, but there is a lot to do. We’re hoping to increase this year’s harvest,” Ceryse’s father said, patting Oscar’s knee. Ceryse swallowed, thinking for a moment that somehow this was her fault. Before clenching her hands into fists, her nails bit in, causing crescent-shaped white lines in her palm from the pressure.
“Okay, let me start. There are many things I want to speak to you about, but the most important thing is that I’m fine. I am safe. Choosing her words, Ceryse said she had heard an interesting time since she left after the harvest festival last year.
“I don’t think the yields from any year’s harvest depend upon how hard we work in the fields. And it has nothing to do with the connection to the Daffodil Queen being selected,” Ceryse said. She chose her words to avoid upsetting or disrespecting her father and brother’s hard work in the fields over the last few years.
“Darling, be cautious when discussing our family’s legacy and the success of the harvest. It impacts how we are perceived in the village and how prospects feel,” her mother warned, her voice becoming wary. Ceryse’s father cleared his throat.
“After your return, it might take some time for us to get used to the idea. It’s unprecedented for a girl to come back to the village as the Daffodil Queen. You and your mother had spent some time together reconnecting; we can discuss his further down, and that way your oldest brother may be,” Ceryse’s father stood up, gesturing for Oscar to join him. The youngest member of the family stood and trailed off after his father turned around to wave at Ceryse and his mother.
“Come along, Oscar; we have much to fix. If we hope to save the harvest this year,” he whispered as he walked out the door. Oscar bustled after him, giving a beautiful wave to both his mother and sister at the cottage’s gate.
“You two be safe. You hear me,’ Ceryse’s mother called, clutching her shawl around her shoulders. They waved goodbye from the doorway of their little cottage.
“Mum? What did Dad mean by trying to save the harvest?” Ceryse asked. As she stayed in the shadows of their charming garden. Other men walked past the home, their hoes resting on their shoulders, muttering about the poor yield of this year’s crops. Her mother came over to the herb patch under the tree where Ceryse stood.
“The soil in the fields turned hard this year, and the weather for the last two seasons has proven erratic, leading to inadequate crop yields. Your father and brother have time to see if they can save the rest of the poor crop this year. The village might go hungry,” Ceryse’s mother said.
During the morning, Ceryse helped her mother with this year’s Harvest festival preparations. However, Ceryse noticed her mother was cautious around her. Both women worked in silence as birds roosted on the thatched roof of the cottage. They kept time with the creature. Ceryse felt her mother’s gaze slide over her a few times. Ceryse stopped mending the laundry basket after growing tired of her mother’s stolen glances, only to notice it was midday as the sun beat in through the window.
“Mother, is there something you would like to ask me about my time away? Why did I return, unlike the Daffodil Queens before me?” Ceryse asked. Her mother put down the bundles of herbs she had been preparing for drying. Ceryse stepped closer to her mother, seeing the quiver in her mother’s lip.
“I do not need to know. I am so happy that they have returned you to us. By the grace of the Gods,” Ceryse’s mother proclaimed. She pulled back from Ceryse. Her Mother looked around, confused, then back at her daughter’s hands. She had reached over the table to hold it.
“Is something the matter, mother?” Ceryse asked.
“No, sweetheart, it’s just that you’re not as warm as I remember,” she said. Ceryse looked down at her hands to see if there were any marks left by the underworld or the thorns of the hedges that she had gotten in her childhood. There were not any.
They both returned to their tasks. Ceryse started mending the lace gowns in the corner. She had claimed it to help her mother in bringing a small amount of extra money into the house. While her mother hummed a song from Ceryse’s childhood, she completed the bundles of herbs for drying.
“Sorry to bring this up, Mum, but where did Taran go this morning? Oscar mentioned something about the town council.” Ceryse asked, unsure if their mother and father were aware of how deeply Taran was involved with The Order.
A chill clawed at her, knowing that it was by his hand that her life could have been claimed at the last festival to celebrate the harvest. Her mother looked up with a smile on her face. It did not reach her eyes like it had in the past. Ceryse hoped it was not because of her disappearance or that she had returned to them.
“Your brother has been secretive about arrangements for the town council. Since they crowned you as the daffodil Queen,” her mother said. Before her she could elaborate, there was a wet slap across the front door, followed by groaning. Ceryse approached, hands shaking as they closed around the handle.
“Be careful, darling,” Ceryse’s mother warned as she retrieved a poker from the hearth. Listening to her mother’s warning, Ceryse grabbed hold of a scythe her father had left by the door. Ceryse lifted it high above her head as she opened the door, ready to swing at anyone who wished harm to her mother or herself. However, Oscar fell through entering the cottage, the side of his face swollen and bloody.
“Run,” he said. He struggled to form the words. Ceryse kneeled beside him. The sound of their mother’s poker striking the floor as she joined Ceryse by her brother’s side echoed in the hearth.
“Oscar, what happened?” their mother asked, as she took a damp cloth and wiped the blood off it.
“A bunch of hooded brutes from town came into the field and said that we were taking the best of these crops for ourselves. Father tried to explain, and they hurt us,” Oscar said, taking a sharp breath. Their mother’s face went pale. She turned from her son, who was lying in her lap, to look at Ceryse.
“Go to the fields, Ceryse. See if your father is okay,” she said, her voice shaky, holding her youngest child’s head in her lap. Ceryse saw the fear in her eyes.
“Papa! Papa!” Ceryse shouted, turning in circles. The sun had disappeared behind the tops of the willow trees by the river, taking away all the warmth with it. She heard gurgling coming from behind a pile of cut grass. She picked her way around the pile. The sound grew louder and wetter as she approached. Ceryse jumped the last curve around the grass cuttings, hoping to scare the person or creature hiding behind it if they intended to harm her.
“Please don’t,” her father said, an arm raised above his head. His whole-body shook. Seeing her father, a powerful man, reduced to a whimpering mass, Ceryse sank to the ground, and tears streamed down her face.
“Papa, what happened?” Ceryse asked. She took him into her arms, feeling the shoulder of her dress growing wet and sticky.
“Men came and accused us of stealing the best crops. I denied it because it was not true. Then they said someone had seen you and that the failed crops were our fault. If you had done what you were told last year,” Her father said in a shaky voice, “Those men want to hurt you,” he said. Her father gritted his teeth and locked eyes with Ceryse.
The fierce protection returned to his face. To comfort him, she hummed a tune that her mother had always used to settle her and her brothers, smoothing his ruffled hair and placing his cap on his head.
“Let them try,” Ceryse said. Flashes from within the village came flooding back. A look on Taran’s face on the night of sacrifice His smug face fuelled her rage.
“You shouldn’t speak like that, my little sunshine,” her father said. He raised his hand to brush her cheek.
“Things have changed, Father, and there is a great deal I think myself and Taran have to explain to you about the truth of last year’s festival. Especially around what he does with the town council. As much as I’m your little sunshine, I’m also the Daffodil Queen. It is my responsibility to ensure that crops survive, and this village does not go hungry,” Ceryse said, rising to her feet. The earth around her father and her shifted, and new sprouts peeked through the cutting. Her father looked around, shock lacing his expression. Ceryse turned around, kneeling to help him back to his feet.
“Tell me what’s going on, Pumpkin; you’re scaring me, and this is not safe for you. What happened while you’re away? Who were you placed with?” her father asked, wringing his hands, his voice going from utter fear to that fierce protective nature that she had known all her childhood.
“Remember how I asked if you’d be disappointed if I was selected or if The Goblet chose someone else last year? Ceryse picked up the basket at her father’s feet. She acknowledged that the truth she and her mother discussed, about following her own path, had proven to be accurate.
“Wait a minute, if you’re here, does that mean Oscar is safe?” her father interrupted her, looking towards where their cottage stood just at the fork of the trail that led down to the water and willow trees.
“Yes, Father, Oscar is at home. Mother is tending to his wounds. Please take yourself back home. It might not be safe for you out here,” Ceryse said. Her father looked at her through his swelling eye.
“where are you going? I should come with you,” Her father said through laboured breathing.
“No father. Please There are a few things I need to say to your oldest child. I’ll see myself to the village,” Ceryse said before stalking off and out of the field. Crops shot up in her footfalls, ready for the harvest. Her father dropped back to his knees. She could hear him sucking in a sharp breath. Ceryse paused, shifting her weight between her feet.
“Father, please get your wounds tended to. The crops will still be here once you are healed. I promise I will help you. Together we will kill the fields until there is a mighty harvest of fast crops to feed the village and those surrounding us for the winter to come,” Paris said as she turned back, coming to kneel before her father. She cupped his chin in her hands.
“What is happening, my little petal? What did they do to you after the festival? They didn't hurt you or curse you, did they?” Her father asked questions coming between sharp inhales of breath.
“There are a few things that need to be cleared up and I need to better understand and once I have that information. I will talk to you and mother, and everything will become clear the right now. You can't help our family if you bleed out, so please. Think of us get yourself saying to,” Ceryse said. looking around, she saw her old friend driving a wagon pulled by the aged meal from the mill.
“Could you please help my father back to our cottage? I will explain everything. Or at the very least, tell you what I can after I put a stop to this ridiculous festival, or at least the offering of a Daffodil Queen,” Ceryse said.
Chapter thirty-five
Ceryse
Ceryse came to a halt in the town square and turned around with her arms outstretched, allowing any passers-by to get a good look at her. She could hear the shocked gasps of women as they scurried past, ducking into shops.
When a young girl dropped her doll, Ceryse walked over and picked it up out of the puddle where it rested. She turned it over in her hands. A gasp escaped her lips when she saw it sported an intricate flower crown and lace gown. Identical to what Ceryse looked like at the festival. A pit formed in her stomach.
She knocked on the door that had slammed shut before the child could collect her doll. The older woman, whom she assumed to be the child’s mother, stood with the door ajar just enough to poke her head out.
“I believe your daughter dropped this,” Ceryse said, offering the doll. A pair of pale little hands reached out for it, grabbing the doll with a squeaky “thank you.”
“Thank you, Ceryse, but you need to leave before you bring trouble to my door and potential harm to my daughter,” the woman asked, closing the door in her face. Ceryse felt the hooded shadows creeping up on her.
“If it isn’t our last Flower Queen?” Ceryse felt slapped by the recognition. Taran’s gravelly voice sounded from behind her. Ceryse turned a flash of hot white rage whipped through her nerves. t
“If it isn’t the murderer. Or at the very least my traitorous brother. Tell me how you explained year’s festival to our parents. That you sort to murder your own sister. is shouldn’t you be punished,” Ceryse retorted.
“You know this entire village we are a close-knit community, and we are going to go hungry because you failed to do your duty. With what we are going to have left after The Poppy Cardinal takes the taxes because of the poor yield,” one of the beaded males said.
Ceryse let out a slow lungful of air, trying to calm her rattling nerves. She wiped her sweaty palms on the skirts of her dress. She knew the townspeople would think her crazy or, worse, ungrateful for the gift they believed the Gods had given her upon seeing her being crowned the Daffodil Queen.
However, with the multicoloured flags and white tent being erected in the corner of the town square. Her heart sank, replaced by a pit of rage. Ceryse steeled her nerves as red took over her vision. She walked towards a gathering collection of girls, whose loud whispers and giddy shrieks of being of age to place their name in the goblet echoed off the glass of the shopfront stays, looking at them with ribbons and lace for their festival garments.
“You know it is a lie. What is involved in the selection process of the Daffodil Queen?” Ceryse said, her voice flitting between a question and a statement. The girls turned around, casting their gaze up and down Ceryse’s body. The girls laugh at the green dress. They had a muddy hem.
